second april-第3章
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Sat as England's Laureate？
Vainly； in these iron days；
Strives the poet in your praise；
Minstrel； by whose singing side
Beauty walked； until you died。
Still； though none should hark again；
Drones the blue…fly in the pane；
Thickly crusts the blackest moss；
Blows the rose its musk across；
Floats the boat that is forgot
None the less to Camelot。
Many a bard's untimely death
Lends unto his verses breath；
Here's a song was never sung：
Growing old is dying young。
Minstrel； what is this to you：
That a man you never knew；
When your grave was far and green；
Sat and gossipped with a queen？
Thalia knows how rare a thing
Is it； to grow old and sing；
When a brown and tepid tide
Closes in on every side。
Who shall say if Shelley's gold
Had withstood it to grow old？
WRAITH
〃Thin Rain； whom are you haunting；
That you haunt my door？〃
Surely it is not I she's wanting；
Someone living here before
〃Nobody's in the house but me：
You may come in if you like and see。〃
Thin as thread； with exquisite fingers；
Have you seen her； any of you？
Grey shawl； and leaning on the wind；
And the garden showing through？
Glimmering eyes；and silent； mostly；
Sort of a whisper； sort of a purr；
Asking something； asking it over；
If you get a sound from her。
Ever see her； any of you？
Strangest thing I've ever known；
Every night since I moved in；
And I came to be alone。
〃Thin Rain； hush with your knocking！
You may not come in！
This is I that you hear rocking；
Nobody's with me； nor has been！〃
Curious； how she tried the window；
Odd； the way she tries the door；
Wonder just what sort of people
Could have had this house before 。 。 。
EBB
I know what my heart is like
Since your love died：
It is like a hollow ledge
Holding a little pool
Left there by the tide；
A little tepid pool；
Drying inward from the edge。
ELAINE
OH； come again to Astolat！
I will not ask you to be kind。
And you may go when you will go；
And I will stay behind。
I will not say how dear you are；
Or ask you if you hold me dear；
Or trouble you with things for you
The way I did last year。
So still the orchard； Lancelot；
So very still the lake shall be；
You could not guessthough you should guess
What is become of me。
So wide shall be the garden…walk；
The garden…seat so very wide；
You needs must thinkif you should think
The lily maid had died。
Save that； a little way away；
I'd watch you for a little while；
To see you speak； the way you speak；
And smile；if you should smile。
BURIAL
Mine is a body that should die at sea！
And have for a grave； instead of a grave
Six feet deep and the length of me；
All the water that is under the wave！
And terrible fishes to seize my flesh；
Such as a living man might fear；
And eat me while I am firm and fresh；
Not wait till I've been dead for a year！
MARIPOSA
Butterflies are white and blue
In this field we wander through。
Suffer me to take your hand。
Death comes in a day or two。
All the things we ever knew
Will be ashes in that hour；
Mark the transient butterfly；
How he hangs upon the flower。
Suffer me to take your hand。
Suffer me to cherish you
Till the dawn is in the sky。
Whether I be false or true；
Death comes in a day or two。
THE LITTLE HILL
OH； here the air is sweet and still；
And soft's the grass to lie on；
And far away's the little hill
They took for Christ to die on。
And there's a hill across the brook；
And down the brook's another；
But； oh； the little hill they took；
I think I am its mother！
The moon that saw Gethsemane；
I watch it rise and set：
It has so many things to see；
They help it to forget。
But little hills that sit at home
So many hundred years；
Remember Greece； remember Rome；
Remember Mary's tears。
And far away in Palestine；
Sadder than any other；
Grieves still the hill that I call mine；
I think I am its mother！
DOUBT NO MORE THAT OBERON
Doubt no more that Oberon
Never doubt that Pan
Lived； and played a reed； and ran
After nymphs in a dark forest；
In the merry； credulous days；
Lived； and led a fairy band
Over the indulgent land！
Ah； for in this dourest； sorest
Age man's eye has looked upon；
Death to fauns and death to fays；
Still the dog…wood dares to raise
Healthy tree； with trunk and root
Ivory bowls that bear no fruit；
And the starlings and the jays
Birds that cannot even sing
Dare to come again in spring！
LAMENT
Listen； children：
Your father is dead。
From his old coats
I'll make you little jackets；
I'll make you little trousers
From his old pants。
There'll be in his pockets
Things he used to put there；
Keys and pennies
Covered with tobacco；
Dan shall have the pennies
To save in his bank；
Anne shall have the keys
To make a pretty noise with。
Life must go on；
And the dead be forgotten；
Life must go on；
Though good men die；
Anne； eat your breakfast；
Dan； take your medicine；
Life must go on；
I forget just why。
EXILED
Searching my heart for its true sorrow；
This is the thing I find to be：
That I am weary of words and people；
Sick of the city； wanting the sea；
Wanting the sticky； salty sweetness
Of the strong wind and shattered spray；
Wanting the loud sound and the soft sound
Of the big surf that breaks all day。
Always before about my dooryard；
Marking the reach of the winter sea；
Rooted in sand and dragging drift…wood；
Straggled the purple wild sweet…pea；
Always I climbed the wave at morning；
Shook the sand from my shoes at night；
That now am caught beneath great buildings；
Stricken with noise； confused with light。
If I could hear the green piles groaning
Under the windy wooden piers；
See once again the bobbing barrels；
And the black sticks that fence the weirs；
If I could see the weedy mussels
Crusting the wrecked and rotting hulls；
Hear once again the hungry crying
Overhead； of the wheeling gulls；
Feel once again the shanty straining
Under the turning of the tide；
Fear once again the rising freshet；
Dread the bell in the fog outside；
I should be happy；that was happy
All day long on the coast of Maine！
I have a need to hold and handle
Shells and anchors and ships again！
I should be happy； that am happy
Never at all since I came here。
I am too long away from water。
I have a need of water near。
THE DEATH OF AUTUMN
When reeds are dead and a straw to thatch the marshes；
And feathered pampas…grass rides into the wind
Like aged warriors westward； tragic； thinned
Of half their tribe； and over the flattened rushes；
Stripped of its secret； open； stark and bleak；
Blackens afar the half…forgotten creek；
Then leans on me the weight of the year； and crushes
My heart。 I know that Beauty must ail and die；
And will be born again；but ah； to see
Beauty stiffened； staring up at the sky！
Oh； Autumn！ Autumn！What is the Spring to me？
ODE TO SILENCE
Aye； but she？
Your other sister and my other soul
Grave Silence； lovelier
Than the three loveliest maidens； what of her？
Clio； not you；
Not you； Calliope；
Nor all your wanton line；
Not Beauty's perfect self shall comfort me
For Silence once departed；
For her the cool…tongued； her the tranquil…hearted；
Whom evermore I follow wistfully；
Wandering Heaven and Earth and Hell and the four seasons through；
Thalia； not you；
Not you； Melpomene；
Not your incomparable feet； O thin Terpsichore；
I seek in this great hall；
But one more pale； more pensive； most beloved of you all。
I seek her from afar；
I come from temples where her altars are；
From groves that bear her name；
Noisy with stricken victims now and sacrificial flame；
And cymbals struck on high and strident faces
Obstreperous in her praise
They neither love nor know；
A goddess of gone days；
Departed long ago；
Abandoning the invaded shrines and fanes
Of her old sanctuary；
A deity obscure and legendary；
Of whom there now remains；
For sages to decipher and priests to garble；
Only and for a little while her letters wedged in marble；
Which even now； behold； the friendly mumbling rain erases；
And the inarticulate snow；
Leaving at last of her least signs and traces
None whatsoever； nor whither she is vanished from these places。
〃She will love well；〃 I said；
〃If love be of that heart inhabiter；
The flowers of the dead；
The red anemone that with no sound
Moves in the wind； and from another wound
That sprang； the heavily…sweet blue hyacinth；
That blossoms underground；
And sallow poppies； will be dear to her。
And will not Silence know
In the black shade of what obsidian steep
Stiffens the white narcissus numb with sleep？
（Seed which Demeter's daughter bore from home；
Uptorn by desperate fingers long ago；
Reluctant even as she；
Undone Persephone；
And even as she set out again to grow
In twilight； in perdition's lean and inauspicious loam）。
She will love well；〃 I said；
〃The flowers of the dead；
Where dark Persephone the winter round；
Uncomforted for home； uncomforted；
Lacking a sunny southern slope in northern Sicily；
With sullen pupils focussed on a dream；
Stares on the stagnant stream
That moats the unequivocable battlements of Hell；
There； there will she be found；
She that is Beauty veiled from men and Music in a swound。〃
〃I long for Silence as they long for breath
Whose helpless nostrils drink the bitter sea；
What thing can be
So stout； what so redoubtable； in Death
What fury； what considerable rage； if only she；
Upon whose icy breast；
Unquestioned； uncaressed；
One time I lay；
And whom always I lack；
Even to this day；
Being by no means from that frigid bosom weaned away；
If only she therewith be given me back？〃
I sought her down that dolorous labyrinth；
Wherein no shaft of sunlight ever fell；
And in among the bloodless everywhere
I sought her； but the air；
Breathed many times and spent；
Was fretful with a whispering discontent；
And questioning me； importuning me to tell
Some slightest tidings of the light of day they know no more；
Plucking my sleeve； the eager shades were with me where I went。
I paused at every grievous door；
And harked a moment； holding up my hand；and for a space
A hush was on them； while they watched my face；
And then they fell a…whispering as before；
So that I smiled at them and left them； seeing she was not there。
I sought her； too；
Among the upper gods； although I knew
She was not like to be
